Rendezvous In East London
by r4ven3
Summary: Another one shot (and I hope I am not repeating myself in too obvious a manner. TBH, I can't tell.) Set in a S10 where Jim Coaver still lives, and the Gavrik mob are packed off early.


The Grid – Friday May 6, 2011:

Dimitri Levendis leans back in his chair and rolls his shoulders, while casually gazing around the Grid. He's experiencing his usual Friday Funk, a state of mild depression during which he can't decide whether to make himself a cup of coffee, or step in front of traffic. He lifts his eyes to Harry's office where Erin sits in Harry's chair, perfect hair framing her perfect face, while she conducts a conversation on her mobile phone. As Dimitri sees it, his normally affable mood cannot, and will not return until Harry is back from sick leave. He just hopes he is on the Grid to witness Erin's inevitable dethroning.

"Coffee, mate?" Calum Reid is the new boy, and a bit weird in Dimitri's opinion.

"Yeah, thanks," he says smoothly, nodding towards the other man.

"Where the hell is everybody?" Dimitri asks when Calum returns with their coffees, and a chocolate-coated hobnob each.

Calum sits back in his chair, swivelling around to face Dimitri. "Don't look at me. Nobody tells me anything," he says, before demolishing the hobnob in two mouthfuls.

"I'm counting the hours until Harry's back in the saddle, and things can relax a bit. Erin's a little too ..."

" What .. pushy?" Calum grins at Dimitri. "And here was I thinking you had a bit of a thing for her," he adds, with little evidence he'd considered his comment prior to airing it.

"A _thing_?" Dimitri asks, both eyebrows raised.

"I thought you might ask her out."

Dimitri grimaces, his distaste evident. "Not in this lifetime. She needs to chill a bit."

Calum grins. "Like Carrie in accounts, or Ruth?"

"_Ruth_? You mean _our_ Ruth?"

"Our analyst, yeah."

Dimitri shakes his head slowly. "First, she's more than ten years older than I am, and secondly, and most importantly, she's off limits."

"To whom?"

"Everyone." Again, Dimitri glances around the room, but nothing has changed. "She's … taken."

"You mean, like ... married?"

"Something like that, yeah," Dimitri says, avoiding Calum's gaze. He feels a need to protect Ruth, and he hasn't exactly told a lie. Just a half-truth.

"Right. Thanks for the heads up. When speaking with her I'll endeavour to rein in my devastating charm."

"That would be wise, because her … bloke is fierce and fiery."

"You make him sound like Harry."

"He is a bit like Harry, yeah."

Calum frowns, clearly thinking deeply. "So -"

Calum's thoughts are silenced by Erin's sudden entry into their temporary man cave. "You two appear at a loose end," she begins. "East London. RAV39 are meeting there. Here's the address," and she drops a yellow post-it note on Dimitri's desk. "Take a tablet with you. All the likely suspects should be on our files." Then she turns as if to leave.

"Do you want them apprehended, or just watched?" Calum's question, innocent in the moment, has Dimitri glaring his way – the proverbial kick under the table.

"Do nothing other than watch from a distance. And take photos. There's a good camera in Tariq's office. The group has scheduled an impromptu meeting for three-thirty … at that address." She points to the post-it note. "It's an abandoned supermarket just west of the Billingsgate Market. We need faces, and then names of anyone entering the premises. It's important."

"Right you are," Calum says, standing.

Dimitri is slower getting to his feet. He'd been hoping a dustup was on the cards. Watching, observing, taking notes and happy pics … that's kids' stuff, and Dimitri Levendis is no kid.

* * *

"Do you know Ruth's whereabouts?" Calum asks, once they are parked at the top of a lane opposite the disused supermarket; the name, _Ra__fiq__'s Co-operative_, is still visible in faded red paint above the double doors. It is a derelict building in an equally derelict side street.

"How should I know?" Dimitri's mood hasn't lifted. Stuck inside a car in East London with Calum Reid is not how he'd imagined his Friday afternoon.

"Probably seeing an asset," Calum offers, "or maybe one of Harry's assets."

"Probably," Dimitri replies grumpily. Quite honestly, he couldn't give two shits where Ruth is, and why.

* * *

A little over a hundred metres from where Dimitri and Calum sit in wait for a group of disgruntled former soldiers to enter a disused building, Ruth Evershed sits at a table-for-two, also waiting for someone to arrive. While she waits she orders a serving of naan bread and a glass of house white.

She has almost downed her glass of wine when he suddenly appears opposite her, his body casting a broad shadow. "Hello, Ruth," he says. "Sorry I'm late."

* * *

"There he is," Calum says quietly, having first consulted the images on his tablet. "The Big Cheese."

Dimitri sits behind the wheel of the pool car, his eyes on the man who approaches the door to Rafiq's Co-operative. The man appears to be in his early to mid forties, his brown hair receding, and he walks with a limp which favours his left leg. "Shane Kilmartin," he says, "in the flesh. Whatever they're discussing in there, it's something big."

"And here comes the other one," Calum adds, sitting up straight in his seat before grabbing the camera from the console between the seats. "Simon Monk, son of Lord Alasdair Monk."

"Afghanistan 2001. He was part of our first deployment. A volunteer who came home a hero."

"Some hero."

Dimitri turns briefly towards Calum before he again watches the approach to the disused shop. "Only those who were there know what it was like, Cal. Their experiences are not ours to judge."

"If you say so."

"Our job is to protect British citizens on British soil. If and when this bunch of veterans strikes again, let's hope we're ready to act."

"I think the chances of it happening again are close to 100%. It's a pity we can't say the same about the likelihood of us stopping them."

Knowing Calum is right, Dimitri replies with his silence.

* * *

Harry has ordered for them both, and now with her on her second glass of wine, and he nursing his first whiskey between his fingers, their initial awkwardness is behind them.

"How did you cope with living in a safe house for two weeks?" Ruth asks, already knowing the answer.

Harry watches her for a long moment, and she wonders has she touched a nerve. After all, it hadn't been his idea to hide away while the Russian talks went ahead … or not, as it had turned out. "It was boring … and lonely," he says quietly, his eyes drilling into hers, "and it was sixteen days during which I missed my everyday routine. And I missed … everyone at work."

"Even Calum?"

"Especially Calum," he says with a slow smile. "I missed the hero worship."

This time Ruth smiles. "You'd have heard that the talks failed."

"I've been informed, yes."

"And the Russian party is scheduled to fly out tomorrow morning. Then you'll be free to -"

"Go home," Harry finishes for her.

"But only providing all members of the Russian contingent are on that plane. If even one of them remains in London, then I'm afraid you'll be ..."

"Stuck in my little flat in Poplar."

Ruth nods. "It was supposed that the Russians wouldn't leave central London, and were they to do so, they'd be unlikely to venture into east London, so that is why the Poplar flat was chosen as your temporary home."

"I had figured that out." His eyes still hold hers, and while she enjoys his focused attention, it is also disconcerting. "What was the official story … to explain my absence?"

This time Ruth relaxes, smiling back at him. "Erin gave me the job of creating your story," she says, almost proudly. "You were visiting a … lady friend in South Yorkshire, when you had a bad accident on the outskirts of Doncaster. You were treated at a nearby hospital, but would need at least two weeks in which to recover fully. I even organised for the local press to report the `accident'.'"

"And they believed that?"

"The Russians?" Harry nods. "Yes, they did. I was a little worried that they might decide to visit you in Doncaster, but … they seemed satisfied with the story."

"Good. That was good work, Ruth, but ..."

"What?"

"I felt like I was hiding away."

"You _were_ hiding away. Your life had been threatened. We had to keep surveillance on the younger Gavrik … just in case he made an unscheduled visit to Doncaster only to find you not there. Your remaining alive and well was deemed top priority."

Harry says nothing, although he still watches her closely. Ruth can almost see the synapses in his brain firing as he searches for, and then finds the right words. "What did you mean by … lady friend?"

"Nothing. The lady friend was a fiction. At least, I hope it was a fiction."

"I have no lady friend, in South Yorkshire, or anywhere else, which reminds me ..." Harry opens his jacket and removes a small parcel from the inside pocket. "For you, Ruth. I didn't forget your birthday. I couldn't contact you while the talks were -"

"I know that. And thank you … for this," she says as she turns the parcel over in her hands, wondering should she open it in front of him.

"I hadn't much opportunity for shopping, but I'd browse the local market, and I found it and … thought of you."

"Can I ..?"

"Please, Ruth. Open it. There's no card. I'm not terribly skilled at this kind of thing, but I do value you."

How like Harry to say he _values_ her. He simply can't say the word, _love_, or even _care for_, but Ruth knows this, and accepts him, limited man that he is. She turns her attention to the gift, rubbing her palm across the smooth, shiny black paper. She opens it slowly, aware that he is still watching her. Having removed the paper and drawn out a small volume, she finds herself smiling. In some areas of his life Harry may be a closed book, but he is observant, and he knows her so well.

"_Rumi: The Book of Love_," she reads. "Oh, Harry, that's lovely."

"I wrote something in the front, although I'm not ... terribly good at saying what I mean, or what I feel." His voice is quiet, so quiet Ruth has to look up, where she sees the emotion he is attempting to hide – a clenching of his jaw, while his eyes flick to hers, and then down to the book in her hands. Perhaps he should regularly spend a couple of weeks in a safe house, especially as the experience seems to have unlocked doors to some dusty rooms deep inside him.

She opens the book, and there, on the first page, Harry has written in his bold scrawl: _Happy birthday, Ruth. I hope this book speaks to you in __a__ way I feel unable to express. Harry x _

So formal, and yet so eloquent in its restraint. Ruth can't look at him, so moved is she. By avoiding saying what it is he feels for her, it is as though he has shouted the words from the roof of the highest building in the city. She takes a deep breath before lifting her eyes. "Thank you, Harry. That's lovely."

"Do you like it?"

"Of course I like it. I'll keep it beside my bed, to read each night."

Her words hang suspended in the air between them. They both know that they would prefer to have the other with them when they retire at night, just as they both acknowledge how unlikely that sweet possibility is for them. Too much has gone awry for them, with one too many separations, and countless losses. For either of them to lose the other forever would be a loss too many, one which would shatter the heart of the one left behind.

"Would you like another drink, Ruth?"

"I'd really love a coffee," she replies, smiling into his eyes.

* * *

"That's it, then," Dimitri says, as the last of the men leaves the shop, locking the door behind him.

"Only twelve members in attendance," Calum comments, consulting the tablet where images of all twelve have been saved.

"I thought there were thirty-nine."

Calum nods. "Perhaps it's only these twelve who make the decisions. They are ex-army, so the group is unlikely to operate according to democratic rules."

This time Dimitri nods, suddenly admiring his companion. The man has a brain after all. "What happens now?" he asks.

"I guess it's time to report back to Erin."

"I'm counting the days until Harry returns," Dimitri grumbles. "Why don't I ring Erin? That way I won't have to speak to her face to face."

"She's not that bad," Calum says.

"Maybe not to you," and he takes his phone from the pocket of his jacket.

* * *

Their meal over, Harry leads Ruth from the restaurant into the cobbled lane, where the chill of spring lingers, reluctant to relinquish its tenancy to the promise of summer warmth. They stand together, shadowed by the buildings which flank the lane, unsure about what should happen next. Ruth briefly shivers, and Harry responds by stepping just a little closer.

"I'd invite you back to the safe house, but I'm ..."

"You're under orders to have no-one in other than your two ..."

"I think they're technically my handlers, Ruth. Their job is to ensure my safety, and that's difficult for them if I invite people back."

"But you'll be home on Sunday, and hopefully back at work on Monday."

"Providing certain people leave London, yes. I look forward to returning to work."

"Your return will be very welcome."

Harry smiles down at her, and for a moment Ruth thinks he is about to kiss her. But he stands apart from her, watching her. Then, without warning, he reaches out to grasp her hand in his, and leans closer, before he bends, placing his lips on hers. The kiss is brief, but warm, and entirely unexpected.

"I've been longing to do that ever since I entered the restaurant and saw you sitting there waiting for me." His voice is husky, and he remains standing close to her, his posture protective.

Ruth is flustered. While she'd enjoyed the kiss, she is not sure what it means. Was he taking advantage? Are they dating now? These and other questions require an answer. She does what she normally does when flustered; she resorts to the mundane. "We've been investigating the group, RAV39," she begins, but Harry is already ahead of her.

"I've been informed," he says quickly, "by my handlers. Thirty-nine veterans of the deployment to Afghanistan, all discharged unfit, have organised small, but pertinent acts of violence around Greater London. So far there have been few injuries, and no deaths, so ..."

"You think they're not our business?"

"I didn't say that. Random Acts of Violence 39 are all white, and most of them suffer from the trauma they witnessed, or experienced first hand. Rather than being apprehended, they require medical help."

"They're making a point, Harry." Ruth can feel the irritation rising.

"And their point is?"

"They invaded a foreign country – a peaceful country - turning it into a war zone. They want the citizens of this city to know what that feels like. They want us to stop sending young people to perform violent acts on the citizens of a foreign country."

"I do get that, Ruth, but they're whistling into the wind."

"Why?"

"Because to stop them, we'd have to arrest all thirty-nine on trumped up charges."

"We could infiltrate."

"The chances of that working are close to zero. Our best option is to approach one of the members, and .. _convince_ him to .. cooperate with us."

"To be a mole," she says quietly, and Harry nods.

"And that technique has only a slim chance of working, and a high probability of the mole being flushed out by his own."

Ruth sighs, knowing he is right. She nods, lifting her eyes to where he still hovers, leaning towards her. She no longer wants to turn away from Harry. In that moment she knows that being with him makes her happy, while pushing him away renders them both wretched. This time it is she who lifts her face to his. Without planning ahead she cradles his face between her hands, surprised by how soft is his skin, as though he'd shaved only minutes before leaving to meet her. What follows happens quite naturally. Harry places his hands on her hips, and she sighs as his mouth covers hers. This time the kiss is tender, lasting much longer than a few sweet seconds. It is not until the kiss hovers on the edge of passion that Ruth reluctantly draws away.

"Harry," she breathes, "this is hardly the time or place, and ... what if someone should see us?"

Harry emits a soft chuckle from deep in his throat. "And who might that someone be?" he asks playfully.

"It could be anyone at all. We have agents everywhere."

He looks around them, glancing deliberately in one direction, and then the other. "Nope. No agents, Ruth ... although that skip half way down the lane could fit at least three spies, four were they to huddle together ..."

"You're taking the piss," she says, looking up at him through her eyelashes, suddenly embarrassed by her own irrational fears.

"Only a little," Harry replies. "Perhaps," he continues carefully, "if you like .. next week we can have dinner … properly this time."

"Properly?"

"In a nice restaurant .. at night."

"You mean when it's dark."

Harry nods and smiles, lifting one hand to stroke her cheek, the touch of his fingers so gentle that it almost brings tears to her eyes. "That would make _this_ .. more private," he says before he kisses her again.

"Very well," she says against his lips before returning the kiss.

Neither notices the Grid pool car cruise slowly past the end of the lane.

"Did you see what I just saw?" Calum says, swivelling his head to get a better look at his section head and senior analyst kissing like the end of the world is nigh.

"See what?" Dimitri replies, his eyes on the road ahead.

"I thought I saw Ruth and Harry together in that lane … snogging."

Dimitri emits a brief burst of laughter. "Not in this century, or any other," he adds.

"Yeah, you're probably right." Calum turns to the front, sitting back in his seat. He was clearly seeing things. "Maybe I should get my eyes tested," he says.

"Maybe you should," Dimitri replies, while mentally filing away the information. What Calum doesn't know is that his observation has confirmed Dimitri's own suspicions, and since knowledge is power, he suddenly feels _very_ powerful. He now knows something Erin can't possibly know.


End file.
